Eyes of An Angel
by AmnesiacAngel
Summary: My take on Castiel's return. Loosely based off the three sentence, official description of the episode. "Castiel slowly opened his eyes, brilliant blue becoming apparent once again. The three single words he uttered shattered Dean's state of anger."
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Eyes of An Angel

**Description:** My take on Castiel's return. Loosely based off the three sentence, official description of the episode. "Castiel slowly opened his eyes, brilliant blue becoming apparent once again. The three single words he uttered shattered Dean's state of anger."

**Disclaimer:** Sadly, I do not own Supernatural. But Kripke did a damn good job of writing it. And Edlund, and even Gamble.

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><p>Dean was getting desperate— no, actually he was way beyond that point. Currently he was at the end of his tether. One more negative response would drive him off the edge. For the past week he'd been calling hunters nonstop; friends of his father, friends of Bobby, friends of Sam, his own friends… and yet not one knew of how to help his Sammy. Not one out of the thousands of hunters out there. <em>Not freaking one<em>.

The moment Sammy snapped, the moment he'd lost all control, the moment he'd let Lucifer get the best of him, Dean knew it was either he try to save Sam, or he'd kill himself. If Sam wasn't with him, what was the point of living? Bobby was dead. Cas was gone. Lisa and Ben didn't remember him. Nothing was left for him.

Except trying to save Sam. He owed him that.

"Tell me you know how to help Sam," he ground out into the phone, his tone full of despair and annoyance.

"I'm sorry," Jean, a hunter Dean had helped out back in 1998, responded. "There's no way I know of helping out your little brother, Dean."

"Yeah? Well thanks for nothing," Dean snapped. Of course, there was no reason for him to be angry. It wasn't Jean's fault Sam was locked up in the loony bin, all coo for CoCo Puffs.

Just as he was about to hang up the phone, Jean shrilly cried out for him to wait. Scowling, Dean pressed the ear back to his phone and waited for the other to speak. "I said _I_ didn't know how to help him, not that I didn't know who might be able to."

Dean's heart flip-flopped in his chest. "Who? Where?"

"I've never met the guy, but I've heard quite a bit about him. He's a healer, up in Cape Cod, Massachusetts. Apparently he's got quite the magic touch."

"Cape Cod?" Dean repeated, pressing the location into his memory. "Where?" he demanded gruffly.

"Sandwich. The house by the cemetery. He lives alone. Or so I've heard."

Nodding, Dean swiped his keys off the hotel desk, and hitched his rucksack over his shoulder. "I'm on my way. Thanks, Jean."

"No problem, Dean. Also, sorry about Bobby."

Dean's chest tightened at the mention of his surrogate father. "Yeah…" Then he hung up, shoving his phone into his pocket. Massachusetts was only three states away. If he drove fast enough, he'd reach the peninsula by nightfall.

"Don't worry, Sammy," Dean muttered, revving the engine and then peeling out of the parking lot. "I'm going to get help."

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><p>Sandwich was small, quiet town in southeastern Cape Cod. Had Dean been on vacation, he probably would have enjoyed its peacefulness and serenity. But now, as he sped through the dark streets at seventy miles per hour, he was everything but enjoying the view. All he cared about was finding the damn cemetery and the damn healer so Sam would be okay.<p>

Rain fell down in sheets, cascading down the Impala's windshield. The windshield wipers whipped back and forth, brushing the water away. Dean's eyes stayed trained on the slick road, flickering every few moments to and fro, keeping a look out for a house with a cemetery.

"Could've given me a fricking address!" Dean growled out, frustrated at the lack of information. Or rather, frustrated at how he'd failed to _ask_ about the address.

Just then, he came across a cemetery. Slamming on the breaks, the Impala skidded a few feet forwards before coming to a complete halt. His eyes scanned the area, narrowing as he zeroed in on a small cabin with a light on near the far side of the boneyard. Hitting the gas again, he sped through the maze of dirt roads in the cemetery to the shack.

The rain was slowing now, drizzling lightly, almost like mist. Dean rolled to a stop, scrutinizing the cabin with his eyes. From what he could see, there was no activity from inside it. Unsnapping his seatbelt, he climbed out if his baby, and hastened to the covered porch, the rain slicking the back of his jacket and lightly dampening his hair.

"Hello?" he hollered, pounding his fist on the rickety old oak door of the cabin a few times. "Is anyone home? Hello?"

No answer.

After waiting a few more seconds, he began to beat on the door again. "Hey! Open up! I _know _someone's in there! Now open the damn door!"

Okay, so maybe that wasn't the best way to make someone open the door, but Dean didn't have the patience or the time to be Mr. Nice Guy. But after five more minutes of fruitless name-calling and threats, Dean realized the guy probably wasn't even home.

Which meant he was just wasting more time.

In a fit of fury, he kicked the door, earning an alarming crack from it. Swearing under his breath, he turned his back to the cabin and stomped down the steps and back into the rain. "Bastard isn't even home," he grunted, his phone digging in his pocket, his plan to call Jean back to double check that this was indeed the correct place.

"Excuse me."

Dean froze, ice shooting through his veins immediately. Not out of shock though, no— it was because he _knew_ that goddamn voice. He knew that voice all too well. A voice he'd never imagined he'd hear again. The same gravelly, gruff, rasping voice of a certain angel.

With a clenched jaw, Dean raised his head, looking straightforward.

Eyes the color of the ocean at night stared back at him, burning into his soul.

If not for the eyes and voice, Dean might not have recognized the angel standing before him. Not at first glance, anyway. Gone was the beige trench coat— currently sitting in the impala's trunk, stowed away underneath all his weaponry—, gone was the black-and-white, rumpled monkey suit, gone were the polished shoes. Now on the slender body of Jimmy Novak was a gay-looking light blue sweater, over baggy dark washed jeans, and matched with a pair of once-white sneakers.

However, his hair was the same as always. Slightly overgrown and wild, having the air of being windswept all the time. The stubble coating his jaw, while maybe a quarter of an inch longer, was still there. And his eyes, those damn eyes, were the same midnight blue, impossibly blue. And they still pierced the soul with every glance.

A thousand emotions shot through Dean at once: rage, desperation, fury, misery, _relief_… But every fiber in his body settled on one.

Anger.

"You son of a bitch!" Almost out of his control, he flung himself at the angel, his hand balled into a tight fist. "You _son_ of a _bitch!_"

And, to Dean's utmost surprise, the man standing before him let out a yelp of fear and cowered in front of Dean, raising his hands over his head to defend himself.

Dean stopped, his fist inches away from Castiel's face.

Castiel slowly opened his eyes, brilliant blue becoming apparent once again. The three single words he uttered shattered Dean's state of anger.

_Who are you…?_

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><p>AN:

So I'm writing this based on all the "official" information that has been released about the episode. Like, the description of 7.17 that was released saying that Cas comes back as some sort of healer. And Misha said in an interview that at first Cas is like, the sorta amnesia type, but near the end he's more regretful (so I'm assuming Cas gets his memory back). And also, in the description is says Dean has a hard time forgiving his former friend, so obviously Dean must be angry with Cas. For good reason too- he did break Sam's wall. I still love Cas though. But anyway... I hope you enjoy where this is going :D

And also, sorry for its shortness! I wanted to write it all, but I'm currently re-watching season three of Supernatural and got a little sidetracked... and now it's late and I need to go to the grocery store haha. So I'll probably write a little later. Please review/comment if you like it! Or if you feel like being nice :D Or if you know any information I might not know. Thank you :D


	2. Castiel's Reluctance

"Cas? What the hell you talking about?" Dean demanded immediately, his voice rough.

Castiel stared at Dean, no sign of recognition on his pale face. Glancing over his shoulder, he realized there was no one else around him. "Am I Cas?"

Caught off guard, Dean stumbled over his words, what he wanted to say coming out as an incoherent sputter. What the hell was Cas on about? "Of course you're Cas!" Dean snapped at him.

"I don't remember you," Cas responded quietly.

Dean's heart quickened. "What do you mean?"

"Who are you?" Castiel's tone took on a defensive tone. "How do you know me?"

_How do you know me_? Cas didn't remember? He didn't remember springing Dean out of jail? Or rebelling against Heaven? Or betraying the fuck out of both Winchester brothers? Dean swallowed forcefully, his mouth rapidly growing dry. "I'm your…" But what was Dean to Cas? A job? A friend? A brother? At one point, yes, but Castiel had pointed out bluntly that he had no family. "An old friend," he settled on eventually, not wanting to scare Cas away.

Cas studied his face for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly. In a very Cas-like way, he tilted his head to the side. "You do seem familiar…"

Running a hand down his face, Dean tried to sort out his thoughts. His earlier anger toward Cas had disappeared. Now he was more worried— and relieved, and curious— about how the angel (former angel?) was now standing before him after being killed for the third time. With a lack of memories as well, apparently. "Cas, what's the last thing you remember?"

"Waking up in the hospital almost a year ago… I couldn't remember anything about myself. Not my name, where I was from…" He trailed off for a moment, gazing down at his hands. "What I am…"

"Come again?"

Swallowing nervously, Castiel dropped his gaze to the ground. "I can't sleep. I don't eat, I don't even feel hunger. And I can… I have a strange ability… I can heal people. And not in the cheesy hippie healing way. The real, glowing, p_ower_ way."

Dean stared at the shorter man. It was strange hearing Cas speak in a simple way; Dean was too used to his sophisticated speech and diction. "That's because you're an angel. Or I'm assuming you still are since you can heal."

Castiel snorted. "Angel, right. You're crazy. Leave me alone." Turning, he attempted to walk away, but Dean quickly grabbed his shoulder— in the same place where Cas had gripped Dean tight and raised him from perdition.

"Cas, wait," he demanded, holding the dark-haired man in place. "You heal people, you don't sleep. What else could explain that?"

Castiel shook his head, trying to dislodge the other man's hand. "Stop."

"Think, Cas. Try to remember. Don't you remember me?"

"_Stop_."

"It's me Dean, Cas. Part of me believed you'd always come back," Dean continued, his grip on Castiel's shoulder tightening.

Lighting shot through Castiel, his face twisting in pain. "_No_…" His hands went to his head, holding tightly. "Stop! I can't remember!"

Eyes widening a fraction of an inch, Dean let go of his former friend. "Cas? Are you okay?"

"These memories," Cas began in his gruff voice, his eyes still shut tight, "they're locked away for a reason. And I'm not going to take down the walls and let them eat me. They're dangerous."

Rage boiled inside Dean again. "So you can do it to Sammy, but not yourself? You son of a bitch!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Castiel responded shortly.

"My brother! Who's currently dying in the hospital, so get your healing ass into gear and come with me and help him!"

Hesitant eyes returned Dean's hard glare. "I don't…"

"He's _dying_, Cas!" Dean nearly shouted. "Help him!"

The two stared at each other for a few moments, silence settling in. Dean's eyes were glistening, showing how emotional he was feeling. Castiel felt his stomach churn, another rush of familiarity rushing through him. "I could… I could try, I suppose," he finally mumbled.

"Good."

"I cannot promise anything though…"

Dean waved him off, shaking his head. "Once you remember yourself, I'm sure you'll have your angel mojo and be able to figure this out."

"_Dean_," Castiel started, but stopped when the name sent another bolt of lighting through him. _Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean_. The own sound of his voice echoed through his head, as if he'd said the name hundreds of thousands of times before.

_Hello, Dean_.

Just before he fell over, Dean was holding him tightly, keeping him upright, arms on his shoulders. "Cas? Cas? Are you okay?"

_Cas? Cas!_

"Stop!" Castiel cried, his head ready to explode.

_I'm still just Castiel_.

Bits of pieces came to him. Nothing made sense though. Nothing explained anything.

"Hey, okay, I'll stop," Dean promised, his eyes searching the deep blue ones before him. "Okay?"

Slowly, the pain calmed into a dull ache in the back of his skull. Opening his eyes, he found Dean's hazel orbs inches away.

_Cas? We've talked about this. Personal space._

A groan escaped his lips as the pain grew again. "Get away," he ordered Dean.

For the briefest second, a flash of hurt passed across Dean's face, but it was gone before Castiel could determine the reason. Still, the hunger let go and put some space between the pair. A few moments later, the pain dulled down again.

"Are you good now…?" Dean questioned.

"For the moment… it seems memories trigger pain," Castiel informed him, frowning slightly. "Shall we go?"

Taken aback by his quick change in topic, it took Dean a moment to answer. With a quick jerk of his head, they headed to his baby. Castiel stared at the Impala for a few moments, his hand running against her glossy smooth coat. "Nice ride."

A slight grin tugged at the corners of Dean's face. That was something the old Castiel would never say. Slipping into the driver's side, he started the engine, allowing Castiel just enough time to slide in and shut the door behind him before taking off. Amnesiac Castiel apparently didn't favor driving fast, for his face tightened, as well as his fists, as they passed sixty miles per hour.

"Were we more than old friends?"

Castiel's question caused Dean to start. For the last hour, it had been silent in the car. Dean hadn't even turned on any music. "What do you mean?"

"I feel… as though we have a lot of history together."

"Yeah, I mean, I guess we do." That was the understatement of the century. "You'll remember everything when you get your memory back."

"I'm still not sure I want it back."

Dean's hands tightened around the wheel. "Why?"

"You saw what just a glimpse of memory did to me… imagine if I remembered everything?"

"You're an angel. You can handle it."

_I am an Angel of the Lord_.

Castiel winced as his own voice reverberated through his mind. "That still sounds…. Implausible."

"Huh."

"Do you know why I died?"

Dean glanced over at him, his jaw clenching. How could he forget? It wasn't every day an angel swallowed thousands of evil creatures from Purgatory. "Yeah."

"Maybe if I remember everything the pain will stop," Castiel sighed, pushing his head against the Impala's cool window.

Dean hesitated. If Cas remembered, what would happen? Would he feel guilty? Would he want to run away? "What if you were some kind of bad guy?"

"What do you mean?"

Dean shrugged nonchalantly. "You know, just normal bad guy stuff. Like Superman going to the dark side or something."

_It is a little absurd though._

_I know, I know._

_Superman going to the dark side. I'm still just Castiel._

Castiel's hands returned to his head, the pain stronger than ever. Suddenly, he knew. He knew he did something very, _very_ wrong. At the moment though, he just didn't know what.

And he didn't know if he _wanted_ to know what.


End file.
